


Dead Friends

by akayde



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aftermath, Angst, Character Death, Crying, Death, Depression, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, James Potter Dies, James Potter is a Good Friend, Lily Evans Potter Dies, M/M, Memories, POV Remus Lupin, Past James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Post-Sirius Black in Azkaban, Remus Lupin Needs a Hug, Remus Lupin is So Done, Sad, Sirius Black in Azkaban, dealing with death, fuck Peter stupid bitch, if someone doesn't hug him istg, jily, why did they have to die, wolfstar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:21:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28213083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akayde/pseuds/akayde
Summary: A short one shot of Remus Lupin grieving.Shits sad.
Relationships: Remus Lupin & James Potter, Remus Lupin & Lily Evans Potter, Remus Lupin/James Potter, Sirius Black & Remus Lupin & Peter Pettigrew & James Potter, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 1
Kudos: 7





	Dead Friends

**Author's Note:**

> I want to hug Remus.

ACT I: SIRIUS BLACK

I had always been fond of David Bowie, perhaps more than I should have been—definitely more than I should have been. I found a sense of comfort in him, I suppose, his voice, personas, free and open aura, it was all I wanted to be, all I wanted to have. His music had gotten me through terrible moments, moments I shared with _him_. The days and nights we spent singing our hearts out to Diamond Dogs, Ziggy Stardust, Aladdin Sane and Hunky Dory; the nights I spent with tears in my eyes and his gentle arms wrapped around me, protecting me almost, protecting each other. The nights I spent with my arms wrapped around him, holding him and being there, letting David Bowie fill our hearts.  
Lady Stardust had always been a personal favourite, it could have been the gentle yet forceful nature of the song, or the slow built pacing, maybe it was the undertones of simple happiness it brought to me. It had always reminded me of Sirius Black, _long black hair, his animal grace, the boy in the bright blue jeans jumped up on the stage. He was alright, the band was back together._ He was alright, the marauders were back together. After breaks spent with The Noble House of Black, every letter and howler, his eyes seemed to dim, but he was alright with us, the light came back slowly, only to disappear again.  
Now I’m sat on my couch in my empty, dusty flat with Lady Stardust pulsing through my ears and salty tears staining my cheeks, wondering how Sirius Black could have fucked us over, and if the light finally went out.

ACT II: JAMES POTTER

When I had first met James, I thought he was a royal jackass, immediately chattering on about how fantastic he was at quidditch and boasting about being a first year on the team (didn’t happen). But then I became charmed by him, his large personality that seemed to outshine the entire great hall, his ability to make any and everyone laugh (even Lily who hated him at the time), the sheer love he held for his family, “ _If you’re my friend, you’re my family_ ”, he had said once, all teary eyed and red cheeked. He was the person you could count on, the one who wouldn’t judge you or put you down, but instead help you.  
There was this moment when I knew just how important he was to me. It had been a hot spring day during 3rd year, the sun was blistering and sharp, the trees were still, in the thick humid air and the sky was clear and blue; it was just us two, Sirius was in detention and Peter was in the kitchens.  
I turned to him and said, “I think I like girls and boys.” I had been terribly nervous with shaky hands and sweaty palms. In a heartbeat, he pulled him into his arms and whispered, “That’s okay.” And in that moment, I had never been more thankful to have him in my life.  
Now I’m sat on my couch in my empty, dusty flat and he’s no longer here, his loud laughter and bright eyes, his sound advice and unconditional support, his absurd schemes and plans, all of it was gone, he was gone, and I had never wished more that it had been me instead of him.

ACT III: LILY EVANS

I did believe in soul mates, and Lily Evans was mine—platonic of course. She was raging winds and theatrical storms. She was a turbulent force that held no regards for the wishy washy of falsities, to put it bluntly, she was a cynic: I was a cynic and were cynics together. We drank straight vodka and bitched and moaned about the stricken problems of the world, our worlds. It was us, who sat together under ivory-starlit skies and smoked weed until we couldn’t speak without falling into fits of laughter and barely hold ourselves up. We sat up in the common room, crying together about any and everything, boys, family, werewolves, horrid sisters, horrid feelings, more boys. It was the kind of relationship you truly only find once, and nothing will ever seem to compare to the attachment, it was something people spent their lifetime without.  
We dated for 2 months in our second year, both crushing on the other and exchanging stiff kisses but pleasantly cruel conversations, it was innocent and childish, and then we realized we were better off as friends, and grew closer through the shared trauma of awkward firsts.  
Now without Lily to guide me through my grief in awfully painful truths, I’m sat on my couch in my empty, dusty flat, wishing I could share my bottle of vodka with my soul mate.

ACT IV: PETER PETTIGREW

Peter was hilarious, he always seemed to have something witty to say, always firing jokes and remarks. I had grown quite close with him over the years, he became someone I could trust and depend on, a friendly presence. He wasn’t the most emotionally intelligent, but he was comforting all the same, he was there if you needed a simple hug, or a pick me up bar of chocolate, and he never failed to make me smile even in some of my darkest moments.  
I remember one time we were sat by the lake, throwing rocks into the water and watching the cold, dark surface break and he turned to me, his eyes lit with curiosity and said, “Do you reckon if you bit a merman, they would become half wolf, half mer?” in such seriousness, that I truly wondered what went on in that brilliant head of his.  
“I think they would.” I said, feigning graveness and we both burst out laughing, unable to control ourselves.  
Now I’m sat on my couch in my empty, dusty flat, and in this moment, I could use one of his outrageously wily jokes.

ACT V: DEAD FRIENDS

Now they’re gone, and I’m left alone with the past ghosts of my dead friends.


End file.
